


Waiting, Always Waiting

by mojo_nojo



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2721032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mojo_nojo/pseuds/mojo_nojo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a crime-fighting vigilante that saves the people of Starling City on a regular basis, you’d think he’d be more punctual. Thankfully, over the course of her relationship with Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak has gotten used to being patient.</p>
<p>Or, five times Felicity waits for Oliver, and one time Oliver waits for Felicity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting, Always Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own ARROW or any of the characters herein. I'm just a fan that likes to play in the world. Also, any familiar dialogue/situations are courtesy of the show as well, and I do not own it, I’m merely borrowing.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: Okay, okay. Yes, I’ve caught the “5+1” bug. It bit me with this idea last summer and I’m just now succumbing to it. I’ve read a lot of them and I love the concept, so I decided to give it a try! This is my first stab at ‘Arrow’ fanfiction. I’ve also waited so long to post this because I kept psyching myself out for some reason. But no more. I have no beta, so any mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> And yes, it’s quite long. Apologies!
> 
>  
> 
> Story title is from “Honest” by The Neighbourhood

**1.**

“Comfortable?”

Felicity Smoak – arms and legs bound, scarf tied between her lips – can only shoot a glare Helena Bertinelli’s way. Helena’s smirk grows wider at this.

“Good.” Grabbing the crossbow resting over Felicity’s head, Helena pushes herself off the ground. She glances over Felicity’s desk, making sure the coast is clear. Satisfied, Helena straightens completely and notices the desk phone is still laying across the keyboard, a rather obnoxious beeping sound screeching from the headset.

Helena picks up the headset, a soft hum escaping her throat. Finally hanging it up, she turns back to Felicity who is squirming on the ground, testing her bonds. When she feels Helena’s eyes on her, she stills.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m sure Oliver will come for you. Eventually.” Studying her crossbow, Helena slowly runs a finger along the trigger. “After all, Oliver does have a…” She smiles with a touch of fondness. _“Saving people thing.”_

Clicking her crossbow to her belt and adjusting the mask around her eyes, she heads to the door of Felicity’s office. “Thank you again for all your help, Miss Smoak.” She hisses her name slowly, causing Felicity to shiver uncomfortably. “Oh, and nice shoes.”

When Helena finally leaves the office and disappears down the hall, Felicity goes back to pulling against her bonds. When the exertion of this activity causes her to break out in a sweat, she finally stills and breathes heavily through her nose.

_Okay, Felicity. Think! You can do this. You’re an MIT grad; you’re smart enough to get out of this._

_Ugh, yeah right. They did not teach you how to slip zip ties. Even though that would have been quite useful…_

Knowing the only way for her to get out of these bonds is if someone helps her, she instead focuses her energy on getting her scarf out of her mouth so she can call for help. She begins to twist her head; using her lips, tongue, and teeth to try and maneuver the strip of fabric away from her mouth. After several minutes she feels the scarf loosening slightly, so she begins to bring her shoulders up and use them to try and pull it down, clenching and unclenching her jaw.

Finally, after what feels like hours to Felicity, the scarf slides over her bottom lip and lands on her chin. When her mouth is free, she begins to shout.

“Hey! Anyone? Someone please he—“

A thought occurs to Felicity and she slams her mouth shut, a cold chill flowing through her veins.

Even if someone hears her and gets her free, how is she supposed to explain this? If someone were to walk in and see her like this, they would surely ask questions; most likely want to call the police. Of course, Felicity would be all for the police being on Helena’s tail and finally taking her down, but they would question Felicity; ask questions about who did this, why they did this, and what connection she has with this person for them to target her specifically.

Felicity swallows. Those are questions that lead into dangerous territory. Questions that could potentially lead the police to what she did tonight for Helena: hacking into the FBI database to find out where Helena’s father is being taken. That alone looks bad for Felicity. But even worse, it could lead her to having ties to the Huntress, who has ties to the Hood. If the police ever found out about her affiliations with the Hood…

Felicity takes a deep breath and rests her head on the ground, the zip ties digging uncomfortably into her wrists. Calling for help is out, then. It’s late at Queen Consolidated anyway; no one would be down in the IT Department at this time of night, except Felicity, of course. She is quite dedicated to her job. Both jobs.

So that just leaves Oliver. Felicity sighs. She was leaving a message for him before Helena’s sudden entrance oh-so rudely cut it off. But it was long enough for him to know where she is, right? He had to have heard Helena in the background too; Felicity never disconnected the line. He’ll come for her. He will. She just has to wait.

Felicity tries to adjust her body on the hard ground, doing her best to find some semblance of comfort. Her hipbone is aching and her ankles and wrists have fallen asleep from the zip ties. Knowing that she’ll never find what she wants, she stills once more and turns her head to look up at the ceiling.

Oliver tried to warn her about Helena. Of course, his version of warning her was telling her to leave the Foundry and say that his discussion with Helena was a private matter. Felicity tried to act nonchalant about the clipped way Oliver spoke those words, but deep down she felt hurt. A private matter? She remembers the third member of their team, John Diggle, approaching her slowly and raising a hand, as if to already stop her from speaking and making a fool of herself. How private was it that Diggle got to stay and she couldn’t?

Of course, hindsight is 20/20, and she knows now that both Oliver and Dig were just trying to protect her. There is a reason why they call her the Huntress. She is unpredictable and dangerous, hence the reason why Felicity is currently tied up on the floor of her office.

_Dig’s right: psycho ex-girlfriend, for sure. Oliver sure knows how to pick ‘em._

She continues to lie on the floor for what feels like another hour or so before she starts to cry silently. The tears smudge her mascara, causing her eyes to sting. Angry with herself for letting them fall, she turns her head to the side and tries to wipe the tears on the floor. Like hell she’s gonna let someone like Helena Bertinelli make her cry.

Felicity is just about to try her bonds again, knowing it is fruitless, when she hears them: footsteps in the hallway. They sound strong and sure, like the owner of them has a set destination and wants to get there as soon as possible. Felicity’s heart races; surely it must be Oliver? _Please, let it be Oliver…_ She unconsciously struggles again, this time ignoring the biting pain from the zip ties and focusing on the footsteps and the possibility of freedom.

The footsteps reach her office door, and then stall. “Felicity?”

She lets out a choked breath and she can’t help it – more tears leak out. _Oliver._ “Oliver!” she manages to get out; her throat dry from disuse. “Oliver.”

She watches his feet from under the desk approach her bound body. She turns her head slightly to see Oliver grab for her bound hands, a small pocket knife clutched between his fingers. “I’m here.” He swiftly cuts through the zip tie around her wrists, then her ankles. “Are you okay?”

When free, Felicity feels the blood rushing to the places where the zip ties cut off circulation, causing her to wince as she begins to sit up. Oliver reaches for her again, only this time it’s for her head, his fingers pressing softly into the back of her neck, his thumb across her cheek.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, glancing around her face to check for injuries before resting on her eyes. The look in his own is hard, causing Felicity’s breath to catch. “You okay?” he breathes again, his eyes begging her to answer.

The emotion in his eyes jars her, so all she can do is grab for the large hand holding her face and nod once.

Oliver takes a breath as if to say something else, but then suddenly pulls away from Felicity and jumps to his feet, knife raised as if to attack. She looks over her desk to see Diggle with his arms raised, silently urging Oliver to put the knife down. He does.

“I got your call,” Diggle says harshly, panting from the exertion of running to Felicity’s office. “What happened?”

“Helena,” Oliver says shortly.

Felicity pulls off the scarf that’s still tied around her neck. Suddenly it stops feeling like a cute accessory and starts feeling like a noose. “She wanted the address to the safe house where her father’s being kept.” She looks over at Oliver, giving him an apologetic look. “She made me hack the FBI database.” Sighing, she tilts her head softly, fighting the urge to wipe the tear stains off her face. “I’m sorry, Oliver.”

“Hey,” Oliver leans in slightly, his hand finding hers. He is still breathing heavily from adrenaline. He takes a moment to calm his nerves and catch his breath before speaking again. “It’s not your fault.”

And with the way he is looking at her – the way he is holding her hand, giving it a small squeeze before letting go – she believes him.

When Oliver strides out of her office, leaving Felicity and Diggle alone, Diggle turns toward her and gives her an exasperated look only reserved for Oliver. She tries to give him a reassuring smile and fails. He appreciates it just as much, however, and returns the favor.

“Well,” she mutters, grabbing the scarf off her desk, knowing she’ll have to throw it out when she gets home. Or burn it. “One thing I know is I hope to never have to run into that chick again. Even if she did like my panda flats.”

Diggle simply chuckles, ushering her out of the office.

 

**2.**

“Oliver?” Felicity’s voice hitches, pressing her forefinger on the communication device in her ear. Hands shaking, she waits with bated breath for his answer.

_Please be okay,_ please.

“Are you okay?” Felicity finally exhales after hearing Oliver’s strained voice over the comm. With that breath, more tears flow down her cheeks.

“Yeah,” she swallows past a lump in her throat, nodding her head slowly. A loud crash sounds behind her chair, causing more sparks to shoot across the badly destroyed Foundry. She jumps at the sound, a small sob escaping her lips. She tries to quell the noises she’s making before talking to Oliver once more, but is unable. She doesn’t want him to worry any more than he has to; he still has a job to do.

Fighting through the tears and uneven breathing, Felicity finds her voice again. “The damage seems to be contained –” she pauses, swallowing once more. “–on the East Side. Past Wall Street.”

There’s a short pause on Oliver’s end, and Felicity doesn’t need to ask what he’s thinking. She knows; she always knows.

“Laurel,” Oliver breathes. Felicity hears a shuffling noise, and then the comm’s cut off. Silence.

Alone again, Felicity finally lets the sobs escape fully, knowing it’s fruitless to try and keep them in. Around her, the Foundry is in massive disarray, but the tremors are starting to be fewer and farther between. The bulk of the damage is done. At least here.

After her sobs subside, Felicity swipes roughly under her eyes, pushing her glasses on her forehead for a few moments. “Okay,” she breathes. “Now that that’s done…”

Back in control of her emotions, if only a little, she switches over to the other comm line that connects her to Detective Lance. “Detective?” she croaks. Clearing her throat and taking a deep breath, she tries again. “Detective Lance?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” Detective Lance’s voice flows over the comm, calming Felicity’s beating heart for a moment. His voice is rough and slightly muffled. Felicity hears someone crying as well, causing Felicity to furrow her brow.

“Are you okay, Detective?”

“Yeah, we’re fine here.” A pause. “It seems like the earthquake’s finally stopped, but there’s still damage being done. Aftershocks. There’s… It’s a damn disaster zone.” He gets cut off by a loud wail. Felicity exhales sharply. A female wail. “Shh, shh, sweetie. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Laurel, baby. I’m here, I’m here. Just hold on to me.”

The sobbing continues from the other end of Felicity’s line, and she’s suddenly hit with a chilling realization. A person that cries that hard, that gut-wrenching –

“Detective?” she whispers. More tears flow down Felicity’s cheeks, but this time they’re silent. “Who?” she asks.

“Unclear.” Lance bites off. Another pause. “But Tommy Merlyn was in the building. CNRI. It’s barely standing.”

Felicity gasps. _Tommy._ Without thinking about the ramifications of her actions, she switches back to the comm link that connects her to Oliver.

She is about to start speaking when she hears it: more sobbing. For a wild moment Felicity thinks she’s still connected to Detective Lance, but then she waits another second and hears Oliver’s voice.

“Tommy… _No_.” His voice is that of a broken man. A man that has lost everything. Felicity covers her mouth with her hands. Maybe he has.

“It should’ve been me. It should’ve been _me_.” More sobs erupt from the other end, and Felicity all but tears her comm link out of her ear and throws it across the Foundry. She can’t hear another second.

Suddenly feeling very claustrophobic, Felicity jumps out of her chair and turns to the staircase that leads to the club upstairs with only one thought in mind: _escape._

She sidesteps some of the pipes and concrete that broke apart from the ceiling, having to hitch her skirt up a bit when faced with a rather large piece. She tries her hardest to ignore the upturned table that had more of the Foundry’s computers sitting on top, frowning deeply at the technological carnage. Another wire twitches from above, causing Felicity to spin around sharply in time to see a shower of sparks cascade down on the set of monitors she was sitting in front of moments before.

Letting out a long breath, she turns back to the staircase once more and looks it over. More concrete chunks – or small boulders, really – block her from the exit. Determined to not spend another second in the broken Foundry – her broken _home_ – Felicity begins to clear some of the debris.

She’s about to grab for a rather large piece of pipe when she sees it: a wire stretching across the railing along the stairs. A live wire. Resting on the _metal_ railing of the _metal_ staircase. Her gaze travels farther along the stairs and spots two more wires; still spitting electricity and slithering along her path to freedom like thin black snakes.

Snakes that will bite as soon as she tries to touch the stairs.

Felicity’s shoulders slump in defeat, knowing there’s no chance in hell she’ll be able to get out that way. Swallowing another wave of sobs that are threatening to escape, she turns back toward the Foundry, desperate for any way out.

_Fat chance. This place is a fortress. That’s why Oliver picked it._

She moves to the center of the room and slowly spins around, looking for any sign of damage to the walls that can give her freedom. Even though most of the lights and ceiling fell from the earthquake, the walls look virtually untouched.

On the verge of panicking, Felicity grabs an overturned chair and sits it back on its legs, taking a seat. She smooths her sweaty palms over her skirt, breathing slowly and deeply.

_It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Oliver and Dig know you’re here. They’ll come. Just hang on, Felicity._

She leans forward, pressing her forehead into her knees and trying her best to not hyperventilate. Hot tears leak out and splash straight on her legs, dampening her skirt. Soon the simple tears turn into soft sobs, then into hysterical crying. Every time she looks up she sees the walls closing in around her body, sees the live wires slide across the floor like they’re alive, surrounding her and threatening to electrocute her. For one wild moment she thinks the tremors have started again, threatening to resort the Foundry into rubble and bury her alive, but the tremors are only coming from her body. She clenches her teeth harshly to try and stop the chattering. The pattern on her skirt is swimming and spinning; she can’t tell which way is up. As she tries to suck in breath gravity seems to be failing her and she’s not even aware if she’s still sitting or not.

The adrenaline won’t stop flowing, and Felicity can’t stop shaking.

_I can’t be in here. I have to get out of here. Oh, my God I can’t do this –_

A large blast reverberates through the Foundry and Felicity cries out, her head spinning as she straightens in the chair to find the source of the noise. Her eyes cast downward and, on instinct, she dives for one of Oliver’s spare arrows that litter the ground and holds it up in a defensive stance, her breath hitching.

The sound seems to have come from the entrance to the Foundry, behind the large metal door at the top of the stairs. Except when Felicity tries to squint through the dust and smoke that was created by the commotion, there doesn’t seem to be a door there at all; just a large hole. Felicity grips the arrow tighter, her eyes narrowing. She could’ve sworn the door was there just a bit ago…

She notices that the blast – whatever it was – caused most of the debris to fall away from the staircase. Including – Felicity’s breath catches – the live wires, which are now resting on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. Still not a safe distance away, but Felicity can’t be picky at this point.

She takes a step toward the stairs but stops once more, the arrow still held above her head, the cool steel under her fingers giving her a sense of calm even though her heart is about to jump out of her chest. Her path to freedom is clear, but who – or what – made that huge blast?

Almost as if she asked the question out loud, a raspy voice flows through the newly-made hole. “Felicity!”

Felicity almost laughs at how good that voice sounds. Dropping the arrow with an impressive clatter, she rushes to the bottom of the stairs, but doesn’t ascend yet. She needs to see him first, needs to know he’s really there.

Right as she reaches the first step, Oliver appears from the other side of the destroyed door, his right hand covering his face and his left clutching his bow. After a small coughing fit, he winces and is about to grab for his left shoulder but stills, his eyes settling on her. “Felicity.”

She lets out a laugh that’s masked by one of her sobs. So many things are swirling through her mind, but the first thing that escapes it and rushes past her lips is “How did you do that?”

Oliver’s brows furrow, and Felicity only gestures up the stairs in clarification. He turns to look at the mangled sheet of metal that used to be the door and nods in understanding. “Exploding arrow,” he says shortly, looking back down at her, his eyes hard. The emotion that was filling them at seeing her alive and well moments before has left and is now replaced with something cold that causes Felicity to shiver against her will.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Felicity can only nod. “Thanks for coming back.”

Oliver, whose eyes were traveling over Felicity’s body – to check for injuries, she’s sure – snap back to hers and she once again sees the many conflicting emotions fight for dominance in them. His fingers clench his bow so hard the knuckles turn white. A jagged breath escapes his lips and it’s all Felicity can do to keep eye contact, knowing where he just came from.

Who he just left behind.

Oliver must have seen the shift in Felicity’s eyes, because his jaw is tight and the deadened look is back on his face, but she refuses to look away. Grabbing for the railing, already forgetting about the potential danger that the live wires on the floor could create, she starts up the stairs toward Oliver, each step almost a chore. When she is standing in front of him, she sees the wound in his shoulder. Biting her lip, she’s about to reach toward it when Oliver’s voice cuts through the air.

“We should get you to a hospital.”

“Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you.” Felicity smiles sadly, this time her hand reaching its goal. She touches the blood-soaked leather with a feather-light touch at first, and then finally rests her palm on it. Feeling her fingers slip through the blood so easily makes her slightly queasy, and it’s not until she realizes why that she pauses, pursing her lips.

“You can’t wear this,” she says simply.

Oliver looks at her like he doesn’t hear her. She repeats herself, knowing it’s pointless.

“The leathers. If you’re going to the hospital –“

“No.”

She looks up at his response. “Oliver, this is a bad wound, one that needs serious medical attention that I cannot give to you because, hey, guess what? I’m just an IT girl –“

“The hospitals will be full of people who need the medical attention more than me. Dig’s waiting in the car. He can do it.”

Felicity tilts her head, sucking her lower lip between her teeth. “Oliver –“

“Come on,” he interrupts her, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the giant hole. Felicity almost resists, but realizes how ludicrous that would be; especially after she spent so much time trying to get out.

Crossing the giant dance floor in Verdant, Felicity slows down for a moment. “Oliver.”

He slows as well, but doesn’t turn to look at her; almost like he knows what she’s about to say. Felicity spits it out quickly before she loses her nerve.

“I’m sorry. About – about Tommy,” she whispers, squeezing his hand tightly so he doesn’t pull away.

She sees his shoulders tense, his entire form tightly coiling up as if bracing for a fight. Felicity opens her mouth, about to apologize for the apology, when she suddenly feels him squeezing her hand back just as tightly. She can’t see his face, but she can only imagine what it looks like. That thought alone causes tears to fill her eyes, but she refuses to let them drop. Instead, she reaches for their entwined hands with her free one, encasing his large hand between both of hers.

“You’re more than just an IT girl, Felicity,” he says so quietly Felicity isn’t quite sure he even said it.

With that, Oliver begins to head for the front door again, Felicity by his side, matching him stride for stride.

 

**3.**

“He’s not the most punctual CEO, is he, dearie?” Count Vertigo sneers, inspecting his gun by sliding his long fingers slowly along the barrel, his eyes almost bored. His legs are kicked up on Oliver’s desk in a relaxed position, ignoring the documents and files strewn along the glass top. When his eyes flick back up to Felicity – sitting tied up across the desk from the Count – they are alight with amusement. “You’d think after I mentioned that I had his little birdie, he’d crash through those glass doors, arrows blazing.”

The Count throws his gun carelessly on the glass desk with a loud clang, making Felicity jump and shrink away slightly. The zip ties – _Zip ties again!_ – are cutting deep into her wrists, and she feels the slight chafe of them against her skin every time she tries to move.

“You should try and get him to come on time to an eight o’clock stockholders meeting.” Felicity murmurs, turning her head to look out the window to her left; anywhere but at the Count. “Virtually impossible.”

Count Vertigo’s laughter is unnaturally loud, echoing throughout the office and encircling Felicity, taunting her. She shivers.

“You are a treat, Lovely!” He throws his legs off the desk and stands up abruptly. Felicity uses all her willpower to not wheel her chair away from the desk. She eyes the gun still resting on the desk; he could grab it and put a bullet in her head within seconds.

As if he heard her thoughts, the Count grabs the gun and shoves it in his belt, his smile growing ever larger. In fact, unless Felicity’s mistaken, his smile has never left his face since he found her in the flu vaccination van.

The Count clears the desk and stands in front of Felicity, hands on his hips. She bows her head, staring at a spot on the floor, her skin crawling. Leaning forward, he lightly places his hands right over the zip ties holding her wrists down, his face close to hers. Swallowing loudly, Felicity continues to stare at the floor, which only seems to amuse the Count more. Smiling sweetly, he begins to slowly swipe his fingers over her wrist bones, just under her thumbs. Felicity almost gags.

“You need not worry, Miss…” he trails off, dragging out the word ‘Miss’ like a soft hiss. He turns back to the desk and spots her ID badge. “Smoak. I don’t want you. I only want Oliver Queen. Of course,” he leans back to pull something out of a pocket inside his jacket, however he stays close to unnerve her. When he finds what he’s looking for, he pulls it our slowly, making sure Felicity watches it be revealed the entire time.

The Count is holding one of his double syringes, stocked full of his patented drug, Vertigo. He gazes at it for a few moments, cocking his head to the side, as if he’s looking at something precious. Turning his eyes back on Felicity, he maneuvers the syringe so it’s almost under her nose.

“Of course,” he says again, his voice low. “If you do something that I do not approve of, I may have to take drastic measures.” He looks over her left shoulder, and Felicity’s heart leaps in her throat, thinking he has seen something. _Oliver?_

However within seconds his attention is back on Felicity, and if she wasn’t so immobile she would have slumped in her chair. Suddenly feeling very tired and unable to hold them back anymore, a few tears escape and travel slowly down her cheeks. The Count gasps dramatically.

“Miss Smoak! Why are you crying? Your sweet Oliver will be here shortly, I expect.”

_He’s not mine._

When the Count lets out another laugh, this time a hint of evil mixed within the mirth, Felicity freezes, realizing she said her last thought out loud. More tears escape, and she bows her head once more.

“A weight that your shoulders don’t need, I’m sure,” he says, amusement lilting his voice, yet still with a hint of malice, waving his hand in the air dramatically for a few moments. “In fact, having a man like Oliver Queen in your life can be quite –“

But whatever the Count thought of Oliver dies on his lips, his eyes widening and his smile contorting in such a way that Felicity is convinced that he’s truly a madman just by that look alone.

“Wait – I think, my dear, we have a guest!” The Count laughs once more, and Felicity has a wild thought – _The Count knows ‘The Phantom of the Opera’?_

_Probably models himself after the Phantom. Him and Jack the Ripper._

She doesn’t have time to dwell on these thoughts, because she hears what the Count heard: a small _ding_ of the elevator doors opening. In the empty building of Queen Consolidated, Felicity is shocked to find out how well sound travels.

“This way!” The Count grabs her wrists once more, only this time with more force. He turns her chair sharply, causing her to cry out, and rolls her out of Oliver’s office and into the adjacent conference room. Felicity can do nothing but hold on, curling her upper body into itself so as not to get queasy from the sharp movements and sudden stops. The Count stations her next to the large glass table and grabs a chair for himself, pulling it up so he is sitting right behind her. She can feel his excitement vibrating off him in waves. It makes her want to gag again, but she holds it back by swallowing thickly and staring at the entrance to the conference room, waiting.

“Showtime,” the Count whispers, reaching up and running his fingers through her ponytail.

She can’t help it; she gags this time.

 

**4.**

“Seriously, Oliver?” Felicity sinks further into the booth, grabbing the menu and looking it over for what feels like the tenth time. Sighing heavily, she flings it back on the table and checks her watch. Again. “Where are you?”

Felicity is sitting in a booth at Big Belly Burger, waiting for Oliver to arrive so she can divulge the new information she found about their latest target: a man named Jeremy Templeton who’s been targeting cops in a quest for vengeance. Detective – Officer – Lance brought it up with the Arrow just a few days ago after the attacks became more than SCPD could handle; one of the officers in Lance’s precinct ended up in a coma and there seems to be no inclination that he’ll wake up. Oliver seemed more interested in the fact that one man could take out so many cops and not be taken down himself – “Mirakuru, maybe?” he had asked one night gravely – however, to Felicity, the reasoning remains unclear.

Felicity grabs for her purse and pulls out her trusty tablet, bringing the information up to have ready for when Oliver arrives. Of course, this would be the fourth time she’s done so; she would pull up the correct file, tap her brightly painted fingernails on the table, glance at her watch, then close the window on her tablet, jut in case someone looked over her shoulder and saw the information.

She wrinkles her nose and looks around the diner; the place is basically deserted due to the lateness of the hour. She chose a booth in the corner of the restaurant, so she trusts that she won’t be bothered.

Just when she places her tablet on the table top, the waitress approaches her table, causing Felicity to jump slightly and grab for the tablet once more. If the waitress noticed the strange behavior, she doesn’t show it.

“It’s been forty-five minutes,” she states simply, tapping her pencil on her order pad. Felicity winces.

“That long, huh?” she jokes. The waitress’s expression doesn’t change. Felicity checks her watch again, mostly for the waitress’s benefit than for hers. “Um. Wow, I’m sorry about this.”

The waitress simply hums, still staring down at Felicity. She looks determined to stay there until Felicity orders. Giving up, she does.

“Okay, um, how about a Big Belly Deluxe with jack cheese and extra pickles on the side. And a strawberry shake. Wait –“ she pauses, lifting her hand up for a moment. The waitress exhales a bit loudly for Felicity’s taste. “Could I get onion rings instead of fries?”

A moment passes in silence before the waitress nods and slides her pencil and pad into the pocket of her apron. “Mmmkay.”

Alone again, Felicity grabs for her tablet again, but instead of looking over her Jeremy Templeton file – she pretty much has it memorized at this point – she opens a new window that leads to the games she downloaded recently. Picking one at random, she begins to kill time with the swipe of her finger.

Engrossed in the game, she doesn’t see or hear Oliver approach the table rather clumsily and slide in the seat across from her. Felicity lets out a startled gasp, pulling the tablet against her chest, trying to still her skittering heart. “Oliver!”

Taking off his jacket, he gives her a sheepish grin as an apology. Felicity narrows her eyes.

“Oh, right.” Once Oliver gets his arms free of his jacket, he raises his clenched fist above the table and pauses, an over-dramatic look in his eyes. He then lowers it to the smooth surface and raps on it three times, this time his eyes only showing amusement. “I keep forgetting.” He smiles widely.

“Hardy har,” she rolls her eyes but can’t contain a small smile from reaching her lips; the memory of the time Oliver startled her in her office and she asked him harshly if he ever knocked flooding to the front of her mind. Closing the game on her tablet, she switches the screen over to her information on Templeton. “What kept you? You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

“Yes, sorry about that. Something came up.”

“Obviously. What’s up?”

Oliver turns to the window and looks at the inky-black sky, staying silent. Felicity’s brows furrow. “Is it Templeton? Did he strike again?”

He turns back to her, cocking his head slightly, a small smile gracing his lips. “No. I was with Sara.”

“Oh,” Felicity says lamely, turning back to her tablet. “How’s she doing? After that whole fiasco with her family she’s probably not doing too well, huh?”

“She’s… handling it.” Oliver leaves it at that.

_I’m sure she is_ , Felicity thinks snidely, but then quickly squashes those thoughts. Nothing good can come from going down that road.

Shaking her head, she flips her tablet around so it is facing Oliver. “Here’s all the info I found on Templeton,” she says in a clipped voice.

Oliver raises his eyebrows and studies Felicity’s face. Feeling her cheeks burn, she’s about to question his stare, but then he’s looking at the tablet, studying the file.

Felicity just lets him read it over, ready to answer any questions he may have. After a few minutes of silence, the waitress comes over with her order and she places it on the table with a sharp _clack_. Noticing Oliver, she rubs her hands together and sighs. “You want somethin’?”

Oliver looks up at the waitress, then at Felicity’s food. He locks eyes with her and gives her a playful pout. “You ordered without me?”

“One. Hour. Oliver.” She pulls the shake towards her and, without breaking eye contact, takes a long drink. He chuckles softly, making her smile.

The waitress tucks her hair behind her ear and gives them both a look. “I’ll give you a minute.” Before Oliver has a chance to stop her, she takes off behind the counter.

Oliver frowns after her. “Friendly.”

“Oliver.” He turns to her, a twinkle in his eye. “An hour!” This time she chuckles as she says it.

His smile returns, eyeing her dinner. “Care to help a starving man in need?”

Felicity gives him a mock glare. Oliver’s pout returns. Sighing dramatically, she gestures toward her plate. “Go crazy.”

Nodding his thanks, he reaches across the table and plucks an onion ring off her plate. When he bites into it, his eyes slide shut and he hums softly. Felicity’s skin warms at the sound. “They’re fresh,” Oliver states, taking another bite.

He lifts his eyes to Felicity’s, a blissful smile on his lips. “I always preferred onion rings to fries,” he says, finishing off his first ring and reaching for another.

“Really?” Felicity feigns surprise, cutting her cheeseburger and picking up one of the halves. At Oliver’s confirming nod, she smiles behind her burger. “I had no idea.”

 

**5.**

“She is quite lovely. Your _Felicity_.”

Sword unsheathed, Slade Wilson turns to face Felicity once again. His approach is slow, an evil smile gracing his lips. Felicity pulls against the grip of one of Slade’s men, knowing it’s futile. When Slade is standing right in front of her, she puts all her effort in maintaining eye contact, conveying how much she despises the man in front of her with one look. She wishes she could stop shaking while doing so, however.

Seeing her hatred, Slade chuckles and swings his sword downward with such incredible speed Felicity gasps sharply. He reaches up for the comm link in his ear once again. “Better hurry, brother. She may not have much time.” Not even bothering to wait for Oliver’s answer, he pulls the small device out and throws it to the side. Felicity hears it hit a pipe with a small _clink._

“I must say, Miss Smoak, I was not excepting this.” Slade jerks his head toward the man holding onto Felicity. Understanding his silent order, the masked man relinquishes his firm grip on her upper arms and steps away, disappearing into the shadows. Felicity immediately grabs for her biceps and rubs them softly, wincing against the pain the man left behind. Slade begins to slowly circle her, like a predator playing with his prey. Felicity clutches her arms harder and tries to shrink away, the shaking growing worse.

“I thought nothing could quell the love Oliver had for Laurel Lance.” Slade pauses in his circling for a split second before continuing again. “Then again, Oliver’s interest can be quite… fleeting at times.”

When Slade finishes his circle he looks down at Felicity and gives her a hard stare. “Ever since I got off that god-forsaken island, I’ve been dreaming of this moment. The moment where I can finally take everything from him. Take the woman he loves from him, just as he did to me.” Pausing for a moment, he brings his sword back up to inspect silently, then rests it against Felicity’s shoulder, dangerously close to her neck. She stiffens, squeezing her eyes shut and biting her lip. “The moment where he finally understands the true meaning of the word _misery_ , the word _anguish_.”

Slade’s voice softens as well as his eyes. He moves the sword slowly, watching the blade on Felicity’s shoulder slide across the fabric of her jacket. Back and forth, back and forth.

Felicity lets out a strangled sob, but it’s not for her; it’s for Oliver. For the man who has sacrificed so much for the good of Starling City. For the man who’s given up a truly happy life long ago because he thought he didn’t deserve it. For the man who’s given up his body, mind, and soul for a crusade that seems to have no end in sight. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve _any_ of this.

_When will it end?_

Without thinking, she blurts out the one question she’s been asking herself ever since Oliver came back from the island after The Undertaking. Hell, ever since she met him and found out his secret identity.

“Hasn’t he suffered _enough?_ ” she cries brokenly, another sob caught in her throat. At the blade’s stall, Felicity takes a staggering breath and looks up at Slade. “You’ve already taken so much from him. You’ve destroyed his city. You killed his mother.” Her voice breaks on the last word, but she swallows and gathers the rest of her courage. “I don’t know what happened to you on that island, and I won’t pretend to. You speak of the woman you love, how you blame Oliver for her death. I am sorry for your loss, I truly am.” Another pause, another breath. “But what you’re doing to Oliver won’t change anything. Oliver said you were his friend, which means that you were once a good man. Just like Oliver. And if I know Oliver, he wouldn’t just let someone die if he had the power to stop it. He would have done everything –“

Felicity breaks off at the sudden movement of Slade. Letting out a feral growl, he yanks his sword away from Felicity’s neck, causing her to jerk in shock, and swings his sword wildly. It clangs against a nearby steaming pipe, the sound echoing throughout the factory basement. He swings again and hits the same target. Felicity looks around erratically, having a thought to escape, but quickly squashes it. The weight of the small syringe is suddenly noticeable in her jacket pocket; she can’t run. Not yet.

When Slade is finished destroying the pipe – steam billowing out in a thicker haze than before – he twists toward Felicity once again, his breathing erratic. His pupils are blown, and Felicity takes a step back, the shaking coming back.

_“’If he had the power to stop it!’”_ he bellows, the knuckles holding his sword stark white against his normally tan skin. “He _had_ the power to stop it. He just _chose_ not to save her! That –“ He brings the tip of the sword up and holds it level with her nose. “–is why you’re here, Miss Smoak. Let’s see how he feels about having to make another _choice._ ”

He swings his sword downward again and leans in close, his face just inches from Felicity’s, teeth bared. She can feel his warm breath on her cheek, and she manages to succeed in repressing a shudder.

“You better hope he loves you as much as he says he does. It may just save your life.”

Felicity’s jaw drops, her own breathing speeding up to match Slade’s. Tears start to fill her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. Slowly closing her mouth, her brows knit together in a quiet determination that only makes Slade sneer.

Just as he’s about to open his mouth and speak again, one of his masked soldiers appears from the shadows. Felicity’s unsure if it’s the same man that grabbed her from Queen Manor, and a jolt of fear hits her. _How many men are actually here?_

“Sir,” the man says gruffly.

Slade looks up.

“He’s here.”

Slade’s sneer contorts into the evil smile he had when he was talking to Oliver over the comm link. “Perfect.”

He grabs Felicity’s arm roughly in the same place the other man had handled her; she lets out a small cry as he jerks her closer to his body, her back against his front.

“Grab the other one,” Slade barks behind her ear. Felicity hears the other man’s footsteps fade away.

“I have nothing left to lose,” he whispers in her ear, bringing the sword up around her body and to her neck. Felicity shivers when she feels the cold blade on her skin. “While Oliver still has one precious thing left in his life. We shall see what wins out in the end.”

Felicity has a sudden thought to what Diggle said once upon a time; how you can either fight for something or for nothing at all; but in his experience, fighting for something is better.

She lowers her arms to rest tight against her body, the outline of the syringe in her right pocket sliding against her open palm. She curls her fingers over it for a moment before stretching her fingers out again. Letting out a long exhale, Felicity lifts her chin and stares straight ahead.

Diggle’s right, Felicity decides, letting her mind fill with thoughts of Oliver; his voice that can soothe and scare; his smile that can calm and excite; his eyes that can be soft and fierce.

It is better to fight for something. Or some _one._

 

**+1.**

Oliver Queen is wide awake. Lying on his back, his fingers laced neatly over his bare chest, he traces the patterns on the ceiling with his eyes for a few minutes before turning to look at the sleeping form next to him again. She is lightly snoring; her left arm shoved under her pillow, her right arm flung across his hips. Her head is turned toward the window and thin strips of dawn are seeping through her blinds and covering her face and upper body.

He quietly turns his body so he can better study her. The arm that is holding his hip clenches slightly, as if even in sleep she can’t bear to let him go. The warming thought makes him smile. He reaches out and softly traces her bare shoulder, then travels up to her exposed neck. Her nose wrinkles and gooseflesh appears along the trail his fingers created, but she doesn’t wake up.

He could stay like this forever; lying beside her and listening to her soft breathing. Suddenly a rather large snort escapes her mouth, and Oliver’s smile widens. He could also listen to her snoring. The love he has for her is so strong, everything she does or says he simply falls deeper and deeper. When they finally got together she became like a breath of fresh air in a world where all he seemed to do was choke. Suddenly things seemed easier. There was still the world of the Arrow, and he still had a long way to go to get his family’s company back to the way it was before; before Slade, before the Undertaking, before the corruption from his father and his associates that infected Queen Consolidated and the city of Starling like a disease.

Yes, he still has a lot of work to do, and there are times where he has no idea where to go with it all, but he knows one thing.

He’s going to make damn sure Felicity Smoak is beside him the entire way.

But first, he has to wait for her to wake up.

He lifts his head up to check the alarm clock on her side of the bed. 5:45am.

That’s late enough, right?

Propping himself up on his elbow, Oliver leans forward and presses a kiss to her shoulder this time, his other arm encircling her stomach and pulling her flush against his chest.

“Felicity,” he murmurs; the slow, deep way she always loves. He smiles at the memory of when she told him so; they didn’t leave her bedroom all night except for one trip to the freezer for some mint chip ice cream.

“Mmmm,” she hums, turning into her pillow and rubbing her face in that adorably quick way she does when she doesn’t want to get up. “Ol’ver,” she grumbles. “Early.”

“I know,” he whispers, a hint of empathy, but deep down not being sorry at all. “I’m sorry.”

“Mmmm,” she groans again. Turning toward the nightstand, she sees the time and sighs deeply. “No,” she says simply. “You are _not_ seriously waking me up at 5:45. There shouldn’t even be a 5:45 in the AM. It’s sick ‘n’ wrong.”

Oliver chuckles and kisses her shoulder again, this time continuing a trail down her left arm until he reaches her hand. Taking it in his, he returns to her head and rests his lips on her ear. “I promise, you can go back to sleep in a minute.”

“It’s Saturday.”

Oliver grins against her shoulder. “Which is why you can go back to sleep.”

She stays unmoving for a few beats before turning in his arms, resting her forehead against his collarbone, eyes still closed. “There better be pancakes when I do finally get up.”

He chuckles.

“I mean it,” She opens one eye, glaring blearily. “The blueberry ones that Dig showed you how to make. And if they’re not as good as his – no, _better_ – then I’m crawling back into this bed and you’re not invited.”

“I promise.”

She opens both eyes at this, tilting her head up, a hint of amusement underneath the sleep. “You’re making a lot of promises, Oliver Queen.”

“And I plan to make many more.”

Felicity’s breath catches at this, suddenly feeling wide awake. She shifts in his arms so her face is now level with his on the pillow. Even though her heart is beating erratically, she keeps her teasing tone, smiling softly. “Hmmm…” She snakes her arms around his body, trailing her fingers up and down his back, smiling wider when she feels him shiver. “Like what?”

“Like…” he trails off thoughtfully, pulling an arm from behind her head and reaching underneath his own pillow, causing Felicity to raise her eyebrows. “Oliver?” she whispers, her heart only beating faster.

“Like,” he repeats, sliding his hand back out, this time clutching a small velvet box. “Making blueberry pancakes for you for the rest of our lives.”

Letting go of her left hand for a moment, he slowly snaps the small box open, showing off a rather large, yet tasteful engagement ring. Oliver remembers it catching his eye at the jewelry store; how the light caught it and made it shine so bright and beautiful.

Just like Felicity.

Suddenly feeling nervous, Oliver reaches back for Felicity’s left hand, rubbing soothing circles over her knuckles, more to calm himself than her. However, he feels her hand shaking underneath his, and he gives it a squeeze.

Looking back to her eyes to gauge her reaction, he stares deep into her bright blue eyes that are wide and full of so many emotions Oliver can’t keep up. He tries to weed them out one by one, but the one that seems to overtake them all is the only one he needs to see.

Love.

The look she has on her face is so strong, so warm, that he no longer feels anxious. In fact, he’s never been so sure of anything in his life, and a bright smile grows on his face. Plucking the ring out of the box, he watches her gaze at the large diamond, eyes wide, before returning to his face, her smile matching his.

“Felicity,” he whispers, dropping the box on the bed and tucking a lock of wavy hair behind her ear before his palm settles on her cheek, brushing away a tear that managed to escape. “I can’t imagine my life without you. In the several years we’ve known each other you’ve gone from the IT girl that knew everything, to something more valuable, more important to me. I know that it took me a while to see that, but I know now that with you in my life, you make me want to be a better person. You make me want to be the hero that you saw since the beginning, and it’s because of you that I’ve achieved that. You’re the one that helped me harness the light that’s inside of me; the light that I thought was long gone since the island.”

His smile softens, which only makes Felicity’s grow larger. A small giggle escapes her throat when he positions the ring against the tip of the correct finger, taking a deep breath. “Felicity, I love you, and I hope you want me in your life as much as I –“

“Yes!”

Oliver blinks, cocking his head to the side, an amused smile gracing his lips. Felicity lets out a laugh and wiggles the fingers on her left hand.

“I’m sorry, you’re sweet. This is so sweet and all those words are beautiful. They're probably the most you've ever said at one time, and that's something I should really relish in, especially because they're all about your love for me, but…”

She pushes her hand towards the waiting ring, causing him to laugh as well and slide the diamond on her finger, into its rightful place. When settled, she takes a second to admire the ring and how perfect it looks on her hand before launching herself at him, arms winding around his neck and peppering his face with kisses.

“But,” she repeats, letting up on the kisses slightly but not pulling away. “I’m done waiting for you, Oliver Queen.” Laughing, she presses her fingers into the back of his neck and kisses him soundly on the lips, making them both moan softly. Regretfully pulling away, she runs her fingers through his cropped hair, smiling at the faraway look in his eyes.

“Of course I’ll marry you.” She giggles when he lets out a low growl, grabbing her around the waist and flipping her on her back, hovering over her with his bright smile once more before descending for a bruising kiss.

After a few heated moments, Felicity tears her lips from his, which only causes him to trail them down her neck and land on her collarbone, sucking slightly. “Oliver.”

He stills and pulls back, giving her an inquisitive look. She answers it with a cocked eyebrow.

“I believe I was promised blueberry pancakes.”

Chuckling, he returns to her collarbone to place a chaste kiss there, then pulls back up to a sitting position. “You were, weren’t you?”

Sliding off the bed, Oliver grabs the pair of sweatpants and one of his button-up shirts that were left discarded last night. Hastily pulling on the sweatpants, he turns back to her and holds out the shirt. “Come on,” he smiles.

Felicity returns the smile and grabs the offered shirt, slowly sliding it on her shoulders and sending Oliver a sultry look. His eyes darken for a moment before clearing, holding out his hand for her to take. She does so, following him into the kitchen, the single diamond glinting in the soft sunlight between their joined hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! That got pretty fluffy in the end. I told you it was long. By the way, I just want to emphasize that any dialogue or situations that are familiar are not mine, I’m only borrowing. I watched these scenes over and over again to make sure I got it right. Research, baby!
> 
> And yes, of course I shamelessly added some pop culture references. 
> 
> Hope you all stuck with it and enjoyed it! I’d love to hear feedback.


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